


plucked

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Unhappy Genji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: The sunlight is bright outside, shining down on the grand gardens of the Shimada estate--Genji stands in the warm beams that filter in through the window and stares at himself in the mirror, at the pastel pink kimono that wraps up his slender figure and the dark kohl that lines his eyes, before Sojiro steps in front of him and blocks the view.It’s just as well. Genji was growing sick looking at what he had become.





	plucked

The sunlight is bright outside, shining down on the grand gardens of the Shimada estate--Genji stands in the warm beams that filter in through the window and stares at himself in the mirror, at the pastel pink kimono that wraps up his slender figure and the dark kohl that lines his eyes, before Sojiro steps in front of him and blocks the view.

It’s just as well. Genji was growing sick looking at what he had become.

“Mr. Morrison comes from a very influential family,” Sojiro says, as he pulls Genji’s mouth open with his thumb and carefully paints a glistening pink line across his lower lip. “This marriage is exactly what we need to spearhead our attempts to reach the Western market. The Shimada are a ravenous dragon, mouth open and ready to consume the world--”

“And I am the sacrificial lamb.” 

There’s a moment of quiet after Genji’s interruption, a pause where Sojiro simply stares down at his youngest son with a muscle in his jaw twitching. He calmly caps the bottle of lipgloss and sets it on the table beside, and in a blur of movement he’s grabbed Genji’s hair in a tight fist and slapped him hard enough to make his head snap to the side.

“You listen to me, boy,” Sojiro growls; the sound is low and dark and dangerous, and has the hair on the back of Genji’s neck rising. “This is the only way that you will ever bring anything of value to this family. What you’re going to do is be pretty and quiet and submissive, and suck the American’s cock when he asks for it with a smile on your fucking face, and let him do whatever the fuck he wants to you. You are going to be the perfect, whipped little wife, just like your whore mother was, because it’s your only chance at being anything other than a failure to your clan. And if you don’t…” 

Sojiro trails off, and his free hand finds Genji’s neck, squeezing tight enough to feel the racing pulse of his son’s heart beating against his palm.

“If you don’t, I’ll have you killed before you set foot outside of Hanamura.” Sojiro smiles then, something sharp and cruel that shows the points of his canines. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, Chichiue,” Genji whispers, his voice shaking, vision starting to blur with tears even when Sojiro pulls his hands away.

“Good. I’ll have the servants finish getting you ready--Morrison will be here within the hour.”

-x-

A brief thirty minutes later, and Genji looks up from where his hands lie folded in his lap as the door to the parlor opens.

There’s a man in a suit walking in--burly and tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes a bright sky-blue and short-cropped hair the color of spun gold, a small smile on his handsome, strong-jawed face--and Genji drops his gaze back down to his painted nails, a knot of unease building in his gut as he hears his father’s voice.

“Mr. Morrison, lovely to see you. Come in, have a seat...I already have our papers drafted up, all they need is your signature.”

“Excellent.” There’s a pause before he asks, “I assume this is my lovely cherry blossom, ready to be plucked…?”

Genji glances up then, knowing that refusing to do so would mean facing Sojiro’s wrath; and he finds himself staring up into Morrison’s face, at his muted pink lips and the white of his teeth behind the faint smile. 

“You must be Genji,” Morrison says, reaching out to cup Genji’s cheek and running a thumb along skin softened with floral-scented oils. He leans in to press a kiss to Genji’s forehead, and makes no comment of how the Shimada stiffens under the contact. “Your pictures do not do you justice--you truly are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Genji finds himself saying, although the words are hollow. Morrison steps back then and turns to face Sojiro, and Genji doesn’t bother focusing on their conversation, on the discussion of numbers and prices and trades: the relinquishing of his freedom, for access to new markets, to new clients.

He can’t help but feel worthless.

When the conversation is done and the papers are signed, Genji is led from the office by Sojiro’s command. In the hallway he feels Morrison’s hand come to rest on the small of his back, and looks up to find the American smiling down at him.

“Let’s go home.”

Genji endures the flight in silence, despite Morrison’s best efforts to coerce him into small talk. He stares out the window at the wispy clouds and the mountains fading into the distance, and reminds himself that the servants spent too long on his makeup for him to ruin it by crying.


End file.
